Lifestyles of the Poor and Anonymous
In LA, you trip over the rich and famous. Or the has-beens. Or those stuck somewhere in the middle. I live next door to an actor who constantly works and who's been in the casts of two major network tv series in just the past few years. You've surely seen him, but you probably wouldn't recognize him and you almost certainly couldn't name him if your life depended on it. And I don't live anyplace all that nice, either, but these people are everywhere.
You can't even pick up a 12-pack of caffiene-free Diet Coke without running into them. I ran into Dom Monaghan (the charming Charlie of ABC's Lost) at one supermarket and Colby Donaldson (the charm-is-completely-lost-on-me second-placer of CBS's Survivor) at another. Dom was smartly dressed, laughing with a friend, and went about his business like a normal person. Donaldson, however, seemed convinced I was stalking him when I actually thought he was just as an aging, disheveled frat boy who kept blocking my way. Even after he turned to scowl at me, I still didn't recognize him. It took me a minute of going through my mental Rolodex to figure out why this goofus seemed so convinced of his own importance. As if anyone in Hollywood would look twice at a reality show contestant when Russell Crowe is throwing melons at the produce stockers and Melanie Griffith is begging for attention in Aisle 3. While he thought I was a star-struck fan, I was thinking this guy needed clean clothes, a bath, a pedicure and to get the hell out of my way. I'm glad Tina beat his ass!
The list is endless. There was a week where Nick Stahl was everywhere I turned (he was extremely nice to a bunch of kids who must have recognized him from T3). My old second-run movie theatre played host to such patrons as Seth Green (with a civilian friend), Breckin Meyer (with a civilian girlfriend) and Bruce Vilanch (with nobody at all). I've been at Starbucks with Billy Connolly (couldn't have been more friendly) and at restaurants with Aaron Eckhart (gorgeous and inexplicably couldn't stop looking at me) and Mariska Hargitay (gorgeous and completely oblivious to my existence). Everybody Loves Raymond's Doris Roberts and I have been less than two feet from each other twice and I've been in the same place as Robert Gant from Queer as Folk no less than three times this summer alone. I'm sure I've forgotten more celebrity encounters than I remember. And that doesn't include everyone from work, awards shows, luncheons, and other events.
There are so many of them, everybody is just a degree or two away from someone who is or was a household word. One friend of mine has been in relationships with no less than two ex-soap stars without even trying. I went on an online date with a former indie movie star my first year here, for crying out loud. I'm currently on a first-name basis with a lot of working actors, two of the more powerful people in the industry, several of the most powerful people at my studio, and one of the people who actually run this city and I cannot stress enough that I am nobody.
And the one complaint absolutely everyone in LA has is that it's impossible to meet people.
Not people in the biz, not people who can launch your career, not people you can in some way use -- although everyone wants that, too -- but people who are "real" or "genuine" or "not phony". Listening to people talk, you'd get the impression that LA is filled with nothing but the artificial or inauthentic. But what about all those people doing the complaining; aren't they theoretically the type of "real" people they seek? So why don't they all get together and be friends?
Don't ask me -- I'm in the same boat. I'm not shy, I go out, I do charity work, I attend parties, conventions, expositions, hiking trips, even ground-breakings to do things I'm interested in with like-minded people, I go to the gym, I belong to local online groups with shared interests, I've been to religious institutions of various types, I take classes and workshops... and everywhere I am I meet people who are just as real as I am and with whom I have at least several things in common, one of which is that we will never be friends. And I have no idea why.
I have friends in LA, of course. Lots and lots of friends. But there's hardly a single one with whom I have anything significant in common, anything that makes my heart beat faster. Those people I have lots in common with? They're the ones I never see.
The only thing I can figure out is that everyone is waiting for something better to come along. Or maybe they don't recognize a good thing when they see it. Or probably everyone's just too busy, except for the people who aren't busy, who are the people, naturally, you see all the time.
Ray Bradbury, whose public appearances I've had the pleasure of attending a couple of times, says that you must surround yourself only with people who love the same things you do. That sounds right to me. Doing good in the world or bettering or amusing yourself might increase the quality of your life, but it so far hasn't increased the quality of my friends. Maybe it's because all of those things are worthwhile, but they aren't necessarily the things I love.
Pursuing what I love in New York created friendships that fed the pursuit of what I love which fed the friendships. Everyone wins. Ray Bradbury knows what he's talking about since he's had the same best friends for the past seventy years and they've all contributed to each other's happiness and success.
At the very least, I'll be too busy to listen to other people complain about not being able to meet anyone.
You can't even pick up a 12-pack of caffiene-free Diet Coke without running into them. I ran into Dom Monaghan (the charming Charlie of ABC's Lost) at one supermarket and Colby Donaldson (the charm-is-completely-lost-on-me second-placer of CBS's Survivor) at another. Dom was smartly dressed, laughing with a friend, and went about his business like a normal person. Donaldson, however, seemed convinced I was stalking him when I actually thought he was just as an aging, disheveled frat boy who kept blocking my way. Even after he turned to scowl at me, I still didn't recognize him. It took me a minute of going through my mental Rolodex to figure out why this goofus seemed so convinced of his own importance. As if anyone in Hollywood would look twice at a reality show contestant when Russell Crowe is throwing melons at the produce stockers and Melanie Griffith is begging for attention in Aisle 3. While he thought I was a star-struck fan, I was thinking this guy needed clean clothes, a bath, a pedicure and to get the hell out of my way. I'm glad Tina beat his ass!
The list is endless. There was a week where Nick Stahl was everywhere I turned (he was extremely nice to a bunch of kids who must have recognized him from T3). My old second-run movie theatre played host to such patrons as Seth Green (with a civilian friend), Breckin Meyer (with a civilian girlfriend) and Bruce Vilanch (with nobody at all). I've been at Starbucks with Billy Connolly (couldn't have been more friendly) and at restaurants with Aaron Eckhart (gorgeous and inexplicably couldn't stop looking at me) and Mariska Hargitay (gorgeous and completely oblivious to my existence). Everybody Loves Raymond's Doris Roberts and I have been less than two feet from each other twice and I've been in the same place as Robert Gant from Queer as Folk no less than three times this summer alone. I'm sure I've forgotten more celebrity encounters than I remember. And that doesn't include everyone from work, awards shows, luncheons, and other events.
There are so many of them, everybody is just a degree or two away from someone who is or was a household word. One friend of mine has been in relationships with no less than two ex-soap stars without even trying. I went on an online date with a former indie movie star my first year here, for crying out loud. I'm currently on a first-name basis with a lot of working actors, two of the more powerful people in the industry, several of the most powerful people at my studio, and one of the people who actually run this city and I cannot stress enough that I am nobody.
And the one complaint absolutely everyone in LA has is that it's impossible to meet people.
Not people in the biz, not people who can launch your career, not people you can in some way use -- although everyone wants that, too -- but people who are "real" or "genuine" or "not phony". Listening to people talk, you'd get the impression that LA is filled with nothing but the artificial or inauthentic. But what about all those people doing the complaining; aren't they theoretically the type of "real" people they seek? So why don't they all get together and be friends?
Don't ask me -- I'm in the same boat. I'm not shy, I go out, I do charity work, I attend parties, conventions, expositions, hiking trips, even ground-breakings to do things I'm interested in with like-minded people, I go to the gym, I belong to local online groups with shared interests, I've been to religious institutions of various types, I take classes and workshops... and everywhere I am I meet people who are just as real as I am and with whom I have at least several things in common, one of which is that we will never be friends. And I have no idea why.
I have friends in LA, of course. Lots and lots of friends. But there's hardly a single one with whom I have anything significant in common, anything that makes my heart beat faster. Those people I have lots in common with? They're the ones I never see.
The only thing I can figure out is that everyone is waiting for something better to come along. Or maybe they don't recognize a good thing when they see it. Or probably everyone's just too busy, except for the people who aren't busy, who are the people, naturally, you see all the time.
Ray Bradbury, whose public appearances I've had the pleasure of attending a couple of times, says that you must surround yourself only with people who love the same things you do. That sounds right to me. Doing good in the world or bettering or amusing yourself might increase the quality of your life, but it so far hasn't increased the quality of my friends. Maybe it's because all of those things are worthwhile, but they aren't necessarily the things I love.
Pursuing what I love in New York created friendships that fed the pursuit of what I love which fed the friendships. Everyone wins. Ray Bradbury knows what he's talking about since he's had the same best friends for the past seventy years and they've all contributed to each other's happiness and success.
At the very least, I'll be too busy to listen to other people complain about not being able to meet anyone.
posted by dave at
8/30/2005 01:50:00 PM
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